


That One time Clint Barton got addicted to Flappy Bird

by Ambrosia



Series: When Something Goes Wrong, it's Usually Clint Barton's Fault [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Everything is Clint Barton's Fault, Gen, Multi, first rule of the Marvel Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia/pseuds/Ambrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it's probably for the best, because eventually Clint is making their nightly hot chocolate at three pm in the afternoon in a balmy April because he fucking can when Thor's personal Starkphone zips past his ear and hits the fridge, shattering in a beautiful firework of twenty-thousand dollar custom phone parts.</p><p>"I have become enraged with this game of flying birds," Thor grumbles, clenching his hands and releasing them.</p><p>Clint uses a spatula to guard his face. "You know Tony is gonna shit himself, right, that was a custom model."</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One time Clint Barton got addicted to Flappy Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that post on tumblr about the Avengers trying to keep Bruce Banner from playing this stupid game.
> 
> http://moriartyandthewinchesters.tumblr.com/post/76008451943/imagine-all-of-the-other-avengers-frantically  
> (This was originally posted to my tumblr but I decided to expand it and move it over here)  
> [tumblr](http://www.valorious.tumblr.com)

Clint would end up being be the mastermind behind it, because, let's face it, everything is usually in one way or another, Clint Barton's fault. That's what the reporters will say, that's what the really stuffy scholars will say in thirty years when they are looking back at the incident that brought down the Avengers. And, okay, look, Clint can get really bored up in tight, enclosed spaces and you know when his mark is rambling on about the stock market in guttural Russian it's nice for him to have something to do with his hands. It's not his fault. There's only so much time you can spend staring at a tiny little spider as it skitters across the vent, doing little spider-y things before that vent starts to look like the Abyss, and the Abyss is definitely staring back.

Except this fucking game. This stupid fucking stupid flappy birding game that pisses him the fuck off and takes every ounce of his S.H.I.E.L.D training to not fucking throw his goddamn Starkphone down the goddamn hallway because seriously FUCK THIS GAME.

But he plays it. He plays it while mildly monitoring the Russian and he plays it as his exit arrives after the job is done with the sound off, doing his best to keep his face passive so that the S.H.I.E.L.D agents accompanying him don't think anything of it but that's fucking hard because seriously, fuck this stupid game. Fourteen hours of flight later and he hasn't beaten his first score of fourteen, even though that was hours ago, even though it had to have been just beginner's fucking luck. And of course it's Clint that shows it to Natasha, because why the fuck not. He 'borrows' a buttoncam from Coulson's private cubby and hopes to some god somewhere, maybe even Thor if Clint gets desperate enough— that he can at least get decent Vine material of Tasha's perfectly manicured face crumpling in frustration.

Except that Natasha gets a score of 97 without moving a muscle.

Clint just stands there, staring down at the screengrab that Natasha has shoved into his direct line of sight. The brief thought occurs to him that she may have Photoshopped it, because Natasha is just one of those people that has approximately two hundred and sixty seven hidden talents, but at this very second he's at the point in his life where he can just believe it. And Clint of course doesn't see that Natasha continues to play it because even for her, it's a challenge. The intelligence community is soon abuzz with rumors of who has the highest score and of course Natasha is rumored to have proof that it's her, and she receives several high offers from those involved with the Avengers to get pictures of them playing it. And it's just high enough on her list that she might sell out a picture of Barton focused so much on the game that he is rocking back and forth in their perch with his lips between his teeth. And it might go to one Darcy Lewis for the highest bid of a picture of Thor in a hospital gown.

If only Clint paid attention to things like that.

And, okay, maybe Natasha shouldn't have been his first target. Her IQ alone is easily twice as high as his is, and, y'know, he should have been turned off of the idea simply from the phrase former internationally-wanted assassin, but Clint has never been one to listen to reason. Tries his best to avoid it, actually. His worldly hopes and dreams shattered, Clint moves on to the next target: their friendly neighborhood God of Thunder.

Which turns out to be a huge mistake. Because unbeknownst to Clint, Thor loves competition! It reminds him of Asgard, battles between Shieldbrothers and Lady Sif that always end in drinks and feasts and merriment that he dearly misses. But Thor's no fool, either. He's spent too long at Loki's side to be fooled by silly tricks so easily, so he plays along with this trivial Midgardian technology. Yet, to Thor's embarrassment, he struggles with a score of more than seven. And at first, Thor loves it. He does, his booming laughter can be heard through most of their common space, but Coulson ignores it and Natasha is tapping away on her own phone and Clint is just loving it because it's exactly what he wanted. Albeit not as valuable on the black market as Natasha swearing in quiet, violent russian, but hey, this would fill his pockets nicely. Half of S.H.I.E.L.D likes the six-second Vine of Thor laughing so hard he falls off the back of Tony's very expensive sectional couch before someone— and he does have his suspicions, takes it down. But not before it has three hundred thousand likes.

But it's probably for the best, because eventually Clint is making their nightly hot chocolate at three pm in the afternoon in a balmy April because he _fucking can_ when Thor's personal Starkphone zips past his ear and hits the fridge, shattering in a beautiful firework of twenty-thousand dollar custom phone parts.

"I have become enraged with this game of flying birds," Thor grumbles, clenching his hands and releasing them.

Clint uses a spatula to guard his face. "You know Tony is gonna shit himself, right, that was a custom model."

But Thor shows Flappy Bird to Steve, because both of them have a general sense of amusement with Midgard's technology that borders precariously between frustration and amusement and novelty. Much to Tony's absolute horror, they have a hard time keeping up with popular culture and once they do get the idea, refuse to let it be pried from there fingers. It took Tony nearly two months to get Thor to stop saying 'yolo' when it was no longer an in-meme.

Steve, of course, is smart cookies, best of WWII-era soldiers, but he still isn't quite used to having big hands so he struggles. He has quick reflexes though, so he gets the respectable score of twenty five. He, on some god-mode level, is the only one that manages to play it with a serene amount of calm. Well, Natasha, too, but Clint is convinced that somehow, someway, she's either cheating or it doesn't count. But Clint doesn't know that it's from Steve's days with all the Barnes kids, having to be still and quiet in the crowded rooms, or in the Army afterward, before the serum, that Steve's learned to be calm and silent. Bucky used to try and convince the commandos and everybody in whichever local pub they had invaded for the night that Steve had too much of an angel face to be good at poker, if only because he knew that Steve could rob all of them before the night was through, if he was feeling like it.

Steve never, ever felt like it. Their need was never enough to steal from unsuspecting folks too far into their drinks, but still, something warmed in Steve's chest at Bucky's amusement. And of course, this means that it is Steve, commander of all things and wrangler of wayward genius billionaire philanthropists, that coaxes Tony out of his workshop when he hasn't slept for three days with a combination of Coffee, good food, and distractions.

Enter huge mistake numero dos— showing Flappy Bird to Tony Stark. This one really isn't Clint's fault. It could have been, if Clint is being perfectly honest, Tony was definitely on Clint's to-do list, he just hadn't made his way past Coulson yet, because Coulson had the patience of a saint and a facade that even Natasha couldn't chip away at. But yeah— this one? Definitely not Clint's Fault. Put that on his gravestone.

And it could be a combination of things: again, Tony at the time hadn't had sleep in about fifty-seven hours. He'd survived thus far on mostly coffee even too strong for Steve and Thor. Legitimately, Clint is convinced that there's enough caffeine in those mucky black cups of death to knock out an Elephant. He's not sure how Tony does it, but Tony Stark seems to be alive currently just out of sheer spite. There had been oil in his hair and he hadn't shaved in days.

"Fuck you," Tony mutters, staring down at Steve's phone. "No, you stupid, you fucking. I hate you." His voice gets steadily louder, and Clint can't help but peer over the back of the couch in tense anticipation. "FLAP, YOU FUCK. YOU INGRATE, YOU USELESS PIECE OF PROGRAMMING, I WILL MELT DOWN YOUR MOTHERBOARD."

Tony makes it to twelve before he is utterly, utterly consumed. He has JARVIS make inquiries about the game company. He places a bet with Barton— because who else, seriously, about who can get footage of Fury playing it and promises a hefty reward that might, or might not, have included a flying motorbike for Barton. But Tony will deny that if it's ever mentioned.

Tony starts playing it in board meetings with Pepper with the sound turned up so that there is no confusion to the board members where his time is occupied. He plays it during meetings with Fury because Fury really can't say shit. He plays on flights from New York to Budapest until even Natasha has a vein throbbing on the right side of her forehead. And Pepper Potts, Pepper Potts ends up in this weird limbo of Hell and Nirvana, because while her finger ticks away at her pen during those board meetings, she can actually focus while the board members speak to her. And if they glance continuously at Tony and mess up their perfectly practiced speeches, well then, that's fine too. She can deal with that, but it doesn't stop the fact that she wants to take Tony's phone and drop it in the aquarium in the lobby. She'd probably do it, too, but she's actually the reason why the current Starkphone model is completely and entirely waterproof. Listen, there's only so many times you can listen to angry shareholders before you chuck your phone into the East River.

And, of course, when Tony Stark is busy cursing profanities at his phone, he isn't out causing her even more paperwork. Or lawsuits. Or a horrid combination of both. Or trying to buy off the guy who made the game in order for him to get a higher score than Natasha. Cause he tried that. He did, he offered a stupid amount of money. It didn't work.

Clint wakes Thor up late one night to show him a screencap of his new high-score — 57. Clint blinks at it for a few milliseconds, blinded at the sudden whiteness in his completely pitch black room, before he leaps out of bed and into the hallway outside. Together they barge into Steve's room to show him.

Tony has JARVIS create an algorithm for the ultimate pattern of flapping. It still doesn't get him a higher score than 44.

And so the cycle of madness continues to circulate. It's no longer something to do in spare time, it's a status symbol. It's a mark of honor, it's the ranking system of Avengers Tower. It's created a hierarchy where there had been none before. It was no longer even friendly competition, it was complete with vicious backstabbing that included Clint Barton popping out of a vent in the ceiling in Stark's workshop and narrowly avoiding a wrench thrown at his forehead. Clint damn's Tony's uncanny ability to hit shots that don't count, because it only seems to work with his tools.

And this is, what, in turn, makes Flappy Bird catch Bruce Banner's attention.

Coulson overhears Clint talking to Bruce, Coulson, of all people, that knew immediately what Clint Barton might be up to. Because, Clint, Clint takes these things seriously, and Coulson knows this. He knows how far Clint will go to cause mischief and he knows how many reports he's had to file directly to Director Fury. Coulson remembers Budapest and still has to resist the urge to shudder. So he knows. And he fears. And Phil Coulson fears two things in his entire life: Clint Barton with that glint in his eye and the scornful tone in his mother's voice when he has to miss another holiday because of 'business'. So as Clint shows Banner where the app is located on his own Starkphone, Coulson slips out his own phone and sends a text to Romanoff.

Barton. Banner. Flappy Birds.

He doesn't know what happens from point A to point C. He assumes, from his many years of knowing Natasha, that Natasha alerts Rodgers, who alerts Thor, who alerts Tony, because Coulson can swear that after just a few minutes he hears the pap pap pap pap of someone's bare feet before Tony Stark, covered in machine oil, appears breathing hard out of the hallway and muttering into his own Starkphone, a wild look in his eyes.

Coulson looks away, as he sees Banner frown. "It's not here, Clint."

"Oh, give it here," Clint says, mouth full of panini. Bruce hands over his phone without making contact with Clint's skin, who snatches it with sniper's fingers. His fingers scroll through pages and pages of apps, then to the search bar. "It's not here, what the fuck."

Coulson taps into his own phone, 'flappy bird'. It pulls up a Google search page, the first link is titled 'Flappy Bird is gone from The App Store'. Uploaded not five minutes ago.

Coulson looks over to Stark. Stark looks over to Coulson. Stark gives a practically imperceptible nod.


End file.
